Otters
Otters
By Ziegenbock
Here in the water, they were in their element. Up on the dry land was where all the problems and troubles of life weighed them down, but here, in the river near the place they called home, everything was different. Here they could cut through the waters, twisting and knifing and somersaulting through the currents with an ease unmatched in the mammalian world. Sometimes they would kick back against a river bank and drift casually to the other side, eyes closed and nose slitted, just revelling in the rush of water through their slick fur. Then, back together they came, diving and swimming in tight circles and spirals around one another before finally clasping paws and gazing at each other, smiling as the current drifted them back to their home.
The otters broke the water's surface, gliding gracefully onto land and each taking a deep breath, before bounding playfully through the reed-beds towards their holt. Yet another carefree day had drawn to a close, balmy and warm like countless before it, perfect for hours of relaxing and frolicking in the fresh azure. The late June sun, golden warm, made its descent over the western sky, shades of sienna spreading from its central sphere. In all directions the idyllic tapestry of field and hedgerow stretched around them, with its lifeline the river twisting through, men seldom having reason to come by this special place. There was everything here: a holt, plenty of fish and a beautiful mate; what more could an otter ask for?
Together in their holt, they curled up beside each other, their long tails trailing behind them and wrapped around each other's. There they lay, breathing softly and drinking in each other's gorgeous deep musks. The female of the pair, a young otter known as Becca, ran a webbed paw gently through the thick chestnut-brown fur of her partner, the dog otter known simply as Kip. He touched his wet nose to hers, twitching and smiling at the clear contentment in her eyes, as once again they clasped paws together and nestled right next to each other, nose to nose.
Eventually the otters broke apart, Becca lying back and crossing her paws across her front. Kip lay beside her, taking a moment to gaze at the perfect musteline form just inches from him, the otter beside whom he hoped to stay, each day as perfect as this. Once more the young male leaned in, nuzzling into her neck and tracing out along her form with his claws, from the neck and along the side to meet around the back. Every now and then Becca would twitch and buck as Kip's gentle paws glided over a particularly sensitive point, Kip having spent many a night such as this discovering and exploring them all, just under her chin perhaps, or the small of her back. Her musk, potent and enticing whilst subtle and undeniably feminine, filled his nostrils and soon his entire head, sending shivers down his thin lithe body and spurring his webbed forepaws onto her more erogenous zones, sliding and massaging over each tender nipple. Becca arched her back at his contact, taking another deep sigh before responding in kind to her mate's caresses, the two otters twisting their bodies slowly around each other, exploring each other eagerly with paw and muzzle, Becca's paws eventually coming to rest at Kip's most sensitive zone and wrapping around his length, squeezing ever so slightly. Straightaway the young dog cried out with a sharp bark, Becca working away with her little paws to bring him under her spell, massaging the male whilst his excitement grew, yet gently, mindful of how sensitive her mate was. They rolled around more energetically, one or the other kicking out every so often with a broad hind paw, each stroke making them twitch and each twitch making them stroke, snaking and writhing their slim bodies around each other, Becca on top, now Kip, breath coming faster and faster before Becca relented first, Kip pinning her down enthusiastically with a broad grin and a twitch of the whiskers as his mate lay panting, chest rising and falling gently, Kip's sticky juices dripping through her fingers. Kip leaned in for a lick of the muzzle and another sniff of her musty aroma, gazing at Becca with an inquisitive tilt of the head. Becca smiled, and gave a nod.
Kip rested one forepaw on Becca's shoulder, the other beside her to keep his balance, and settled his hips into position. Then, gradually and tenderly, he pressed forward, forward and finally into her. He started slow, watching his mate tense and moan as her body slowly flooded with the rush of copulation, leaning back gasping and clenching a paw, working hard to pull him in. Their bodies, wet and musky, pressed against each other, flowing together and aglow under slowly-drying fur, paws exploring each other's forms once more, tracing each muscle, each perfect curve, Kip rolling back and forth in time to Becca's jolts, his own pleasure growing as her heat built stronger, the whole holt filling with the heavenly scent of musky male. Their short muzzles wrapped around each other, mouths and tongues intertwining until another spark made them both gasp, long and deep, Kip sniffing and hastening his bucks.
Becca tried her hardest to match Kip's eager motions. But she never had the chance to relax into one rhythm. Kip simply knew her too well, the larger male using all of his skill to keep his mate on edge, twisting and poking and wriggling to seek out and touch all her sensitive places, gliding and dipping deftly, brushing his smooth body beside hers from every angle, revelling in the tense of muscle primed for a life in the water.
Neither otter was able, or indeed willing, to last much longer. Kip continued to buck fearsomely, the dog locked irrevocably into mating instinct, Becca straining and holding as best she could and desperately trying to match his twists and thrusts before squeaking and yelping until finally Becca was lost, a long shrill squeal filling the holt as she bucked into a very excited Kip, the female flooding in excruciating pleasure as Kip's own tide of euphoria swelled and swelled before peaking, the dog letting out a loud strained broken yowl, his slender body shaking and cramping, gritting and gnashing his sharp canines until the mighty waves crashed all around him, drowning both otters in a blissful confluence of desire and animal passion, Kip clutching onto Becca for dear life whilst grinning in pure elation and bucking erratically as the heat built up in his hips spread out and dissipated in a warm, sticky afterglow.
Sated, the otters collapsed where they were in the holt, their bodies entangled and their breath rapid. There was no need for either otter to move, and so instead they lay there once more, Kip still jerking every so often, both otters licking and nuzzling each other's snouts, their bodies warm, their lower fur all nice and sticky. Becca smiled, and cuddled up against Kip's chest with a long sigh, curling up and snuggling into his still-damp fur. Kip watched her laying beside him wearily, stroking some water out of her tail, before resting his own head beside hers and wrapping an arm around her to draw her near with a quick glance and a gentle last lick of her muzzle.
For an otter, life flourishes in the water. And for that night, both Kip and Becca were floating, but not merely on water. For, just as the life of the otter is made whole in the deep, their lumbering gait on dry land transformed into perfect fluid motion, graceful and effortless, as much a part of the river as the water through their fur, so the two otters nestled together in their secret holt made each other whole.